Page 15 of Their Dark Rose

Then there was biting a fruit in Mason’s face while he was upset.

That didn’t end well for me. And that’s an understatement.

“Briar Rose Nightingale.” That was how Mason addressed me when he was at his maddest. “You were supposed to finish the algebra homework I gave you yesterday. Why haven’t you?”

Even though he stayed home that day, Mason wore his navy blue suit. He stuck to his solemn teacher role with a passion. Every hour of every day.

Which was why I poked him endlessly. My desperation to rile him up was infinite.

My logic was that once I got a reaction out of him, he’d stop hiding behind this infuriating stone wall. The more I poked him, the more likely he’d be the man I knew again.

The caring person I knew from before.

I didn’t give up. I annoyed him infinitely. And each time, I failed to wake him the fuck up.

Yes, it had to have hurt to lose his parents five years ago. Yes, it sucked balls having his best friend be responsible for it.

But I grew tired of being punished for it. Really tired.

Missing his kind, albeit small, smiles had me going a little crazy at times.

Such as that day.

“I hate algebra!” I threw my chair back, shot up, and pressed my fists to my sides.

At fifteen, my tantrums were embarrassing. They were also a necessity.

Mason straightened, towering over me. The hot summer day wasn’t responsible for my body heating. For my racing heart.

He was. His cold blue eyes bore through me. His shadow consumed me.

Mason’s cedar wood cologne took over my senses.

Fucking with my head.

I had to reclaim some of my composure.

“Sit down.” He frowned, and I hated how it made me even more lightheaded. “This instant.”

It should’ve been me in control of this situation. Me rattling him.

What do I do next?

The apple at the corner of the desk in my room caught my attention. If I had food in my mouth, I wouldn’t bend to his will. Or worse, mumble a pathetic, Yes, sir.

Without breaking eye contact, I leaned over to the apple I saved for after class.

My godfather’s dark eyebrows lowered on his forehead. A warning.

For a fleeting moment, I had the craziest idea.

Taking a bite while he was this upset might have a comic effect. He might forget what made him angry in the first place, and so would I.

His lips would curve up. His walls would tumble down at last.

“A smile cures the wounding of a frown,” I quoted Shakespeare in my head. Another solid reason why I had to give it a go.

I held Mason’s gaze. I bit the apple. And I chewed with my mouth open.

---